


you're alive and you're not alone

by bagelpennies



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Character Death, Character Study, Dream Smp, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Immortality, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prison Arc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:07:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29882955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bagelpennies/pseuds/bagelpennies
Summary: Tommy dies--it's a fact he can't avoid and shouldn't for his own mental sanity. Now, he's stuck in the middle of nowhere with no memory of his past life and a voice in his head that’s really starting to get on his fucking nerves.In which Tommy learns that the world he lives in is more complicated than it seems.
Relationships: Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 8
Kudos: 62





	you're alive and you're not alone

**Author's Note:**

> "You're alive and you're not alone (not alone in this.)" -- 'City of Lights' by The Music Tapes
> 
> an idea i thought of after tommy's death because i needed to cope
> 
> all of this is minecraft roleplay; the story is about the characters these people play online and are in no way related to how the cc's act irl, so please don't take it too seriously!! with that, i hope you enjoy :)

Tommy has never believed in gods. He never liked the idea of them.

Never liked the idea of some all-powerful being having control over him; that the life he lived (the life he was living) was actually someone else's. Tommy craved freedom--total control over his own life and actions--and the thought that some big, strong deity was really the one in charge made his blood boil.

Because what makes someone a god? Was it power? Prestige? What makes someone any better than others? Why should  _ anyone  _ be in charge of a life (of a  _ universe _ ) that wasn’t theirs?

No, Tommy was content living his life believing what was already put out in front of him. There was no reason for him to speculate over some false god--he’s got better, more important things to do.

Like wars to fight, nations to build, friends to protect.

A life to live.

And if there were gods (beings strong enough to watch over humanity and protect those who wish for it), then why didn’t they do anything to help him? To protect him?

Why do they let wars be fought, nations be destroyed, friends be killed? Why do they watch blood spill time and time again, watch families be torn to shreds when they could stop it all with a snap of a finger?

Why don’t gods bring peace instead of inciting chaos?

Tommy doesn’t believe in gods. Never has, never will.

Because that either meant living a life that wasn’t his or being used as a source of entertainment by a bunch of twats up in the sky, and he  _ hates  _ that.

So, Tommy believes in himself, that way he knows that whatever becomes of him was a fate he wove with his own two hands.

If there were gods, Tommy likes to think they’re a bunch of pussies.

“You can’t say that, Tommy,” Tubbo would say, snickering behind his hand. “People might get the wrong idea.”

“Don’t give a fuck,” Tommy would scoff. “I could take ‘em. Bet I’d beat a God in a fight if I tried.”

“Sure you could, Big Man,” Tubbo smiled. “We gotta beat Dream first, though, and he’s the closest thing  _ to  _ a god.”

“Don’t give the bitch too much credit,” Tommy grumbled. “It’d inflate his already giant fucking ego.”

“But it’s true.” Tommy frowned. “If we want to win this, we’ve gotta face the facts.”

Tommy sighed. “Yeah, yeah, I know. We’ve got work to do, or whatever.” He stood up, brushing stray grass off his pants and holding his hand out to Tubbo. “Let’s get going, then. We’ve got a fight against a God to win.”

Tubbo smiled and took his hand.

“Yeah. We do.”

(A week later, Dream was defeated and Pandora’s Box held its first God.)

A little over a month later, Tommy goes to visit that God.

It’s difficult. Even after finally getting his discs back and ending this pointless extended metaphor of a war, Tommy still felt hollow. Like he was missing something, a  _ key  _ part of himself that he lost who knows how long ago. He had questions he needed answering, emotions he needed explaining.

He needed closure. Closure from Dream.

(Because some part of Tommy still feels attached to him. It’s like a string that ties Tommy to Dream, and as much as he tries to ignore it, it keeps pulling him in. He can’t cut it, and he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to.)

And so Tommy goes to see him. He enters Pandora’s Box under the pretense of closure, and he goes to see the man who’s made his life a living Hell.

They argue. Tommy tells Dream he won’t be coming back, that he came to see him for one final time (whether it be because he felt an obligation to or something’s just fucking wrong with him, he doesn’t know.)

Because after all this was over and done with, Tommy would be free.

Finally free.

Except, he wasn’t.

Because just like everything in his life, something went wrong. This time it was TNT. TNT and lava and Sam telling him he was trapped. Trapped in this box with Dream, the  _ one  _ person he  _ hated  _ being around (the one person who turned him into someone he’s not.)

He was alone. He called out for help, but no one came.

Just like exile.

Except it wasn’t exile.

Because at least when he was exiled, he could go wherever he pleased. There was a whole  _ world  _ he could explore. He wasn’t physically bound to anything, not after he finally left Logstedshire. The world had been his oyster, and it was times like this that he wished he could have taken advantage of it.

Because now he was trapped in the confinements of a cell. He was surrounded by obsidian (obsidian and blackstone. Why is it always obsidian and blackstone?), stuck behind walls of lava, locked in with a man he feared more than Death itself.

This wasn’t anything like exile.

If anything, it was worse.

Because in exile, he didn’t die.

As much as he wanted to, he never did.

His life has always been in his own hands. Has always been his to control.

(Why couldn’t he control it? Why, why, why?)

Life and Death. Gods and Devils.

Dream and Tommy.

Two lives taken.

One life left.

A book.

A promise.

A prison.

Tommy never died in exile.

Tommy’s life has always been his own.

He controlled his own Fate.

Tommy was never the hero.

So, why?

Why did he have to die?

  
  
  


“It's not your time to die yet, Tommy.”

How false those words were.

* * *

Tommy lays on a bed of golden flowers.

They sprout around his body, the petals soft beneath his fingertips. A ray of sunlight hits him like a spotlight, and he’s forced to cover it with a gloved hand. He blinks the sunspots away, sitting up and yawning like he just had a long nap. His head was throbbing and his mind was foggy. Every bone in his body seemed to ache, though he doesn’t know why.

He doesn’t know a lot of things.

Doesn’t know where he is or why he’s there. He doesn’t know what day it is or how long he slept. Doesn’t know what happened, what brought him there in the first place.

In fact, he doesn’t even know who he is.

Well, he knows his  _ name _ . His name and his age and how to walk and talk and… well, the basics. It’s just, he doesn’t know… all the other things.

He doesn’t… remember.

He’s in a clearing, still sitting on top of those golden flowers. The trees look like dark oak--thick and stubby with leaves darker than most and mushrooms that grew just as tall. Sunlight broke through the thick canopies, and if he squinted, he could see a beehive a few yards away.

He smiled at it. He wished he could remember why.

_ Tubbo’s always liked bees _ , someone said, making Tommy jump.

“Who’s--” Tommy started, whipping his head around to try and spot the speaker when--

There’s no one there.

Tommy frowned. “Who’s Tubbo?” he asked no one.

He waited for an answer.

_ A friend,  _ the voice responded.

This time, Tommy knows it’s coming from his head.

“Vague fuckin’ answer, innit?” Tommy grumbled, putting his hands in his empty jacket pockets. It’s a trenchcoat, one he suspects reaches his knees. Under it is a red and white t-shirt and beige khakis that seem worse-for-wear. He’s just now noticing the bruises on his arms and legs, and he wonders where he got them from.

_ It’s good to see you’re still a brat even after dying _ , the voice said, making Tommy scowl.

“Fuck you. Get out of my head.”

_ No can do,  _ the voice replied. His tone is teasing and it’s really pissing him off.  _ I think I’m stuck here, forever trapped in this godforsaken brain _ .  _ I mean, c’mon. What the fuck is even going  _ on  _ in here? _

“I fucking hate you.”

_ I know. _

Tommy rolled his eyes as he stood up, knees almost buckling from under him. He steadies himself, crushing a few of the flowers in the process. He looks around the clearing, spotting things he hadn’t noticed before.

A rabbit sitting at the edge of the clearing, staring down a doe who’s hiding behind a tree. A cluster of mushrooms resting up against a decaying log and a bird’s nest perched high up in the canopies.

A tombstone sitting at the base of the flowerbed.

Tommy narrowed his eyes. It’s a pitiful thing, really. Barely even considered a gravestone. The stone was cut roughly, like the hands who crafted it had been rushing to finish it. Deep blue flowers sprout around the base, and as Tommy drew closer, he could make out the name carved into the stone.

“Wilbur Soot,” Tommy read aloud. He squatted in front of the tombstone and traced his finger over the name. There was nothing else there, just the first and last name of a person he didn’t know.

_ Sounds like a prick,  _ the voice says. Tommy nods in agreement, though something told him this man was more than that. That he’d been… important to Tommy. Maybe he was someone he had known. Someone who he cared for.

Tommy wonders how he died.

“You mentioned something,” Tommy spoke, standing up. “About me dying. Is it true?”

The voice stayed quiet for a few moments, and Tommy wondered if it was finally gone for good.

_ Yes. You died,  _ the voice replied.

Tommy furrowed his brow. “How?”

_ Don’t know _ , the voice answered. It was an obvious lie, but Tommy didn’t feel like arguing with him. Something tells him that no matter how hard he tries, the voice will never give him the truth.

“Okay…” Tommy sighed, “if I died--like  _ fully  _ dead--then how am I, y’know? Still here?”

_ Oh, that’s easy,  _ the voice says.  _ You’re a god. _

Tommy blinks. “Huh?”

_ A  _ god _ ,  _ the voice emphasized.  _ Like… you can’t die. You're immortal. _

“Don’t patronize me,” Tommy demanded, though his words lacked any real heat.

Because… holy  _ shit _ .

“You’re lying,” Tommy decided, shaking his head. “You’re fucking lying.”

_ Yes _ , the voice agreed, though Tommy could hear the sarcasm in his voice.  _ I lied. You aren’t a god and I'm just making shit up _ .

“Shut the fuck up.”

_ Look, you can deny it all you want, but it doesn’t make it any less true _ .

“I don’t give a fuck!” Tommy shouted, clenching his fists. “Too much shit is going on at once! I mean, first I wake up in this shithole with a fucking  _ voice  _ making fun of me in my own goddamn head. I find this weird fuckin’ grave here for this guy who I don’t even know because-- _ news flash!-- _ I don’t remember jack shit! And now this giant prick in my head is telling me I died? And I’m a fucking god? What the hell is that supposed to mean? Gods don’t exist! They don’t fucking exist, okay? And if they do, then I’m not one of them, you hear? So stop making shit up or I’ll fucking kill you!”

Tommy took a deep breath, jaw locked. His nails dig deep into his palm to the point he’s sure he could draw blood. There are tears threatening to fall, and he has the sudden urge to punch something.

What the fuck is wrong with him?

_ Are you done?  _ the voice asked, pulling him out of his delusion. He relaxed, unclenching his fists and putting a hand to his forehead.

“Yeah,” he croaked. “Yeah, I’m done.”

_ I’m sorry,  _ the voice said. He sounded genuine, something Tommy didn’t expect.  _ I know this is probably… hard. For you _ .

Tommy nodded.

_ I’ll explain it all later,  _ the voice decided.  _ Not everything, though. Because even I don’t really know everything. I think it’ll be best if you just… find a place to stay first. _

“I don’t even know where to go,” Tommy admitted. “I don’t remember anything. I don’t know… I just…

“If I’m supposed to be a God, then why can’t I remember?”

_ That’s the point _ , the voice answered.  _ You aren’t supposed to remember. _

Tommy remained silent.

_ You’ve gotta start somewhere, Tommy,  _ the voice tells him.  _ Think of this as a new beginning. _

“I don’t want a new beginning.”

_ Well, you’re getting one _ , the voice snapped.  _ Now, pick your path. You can go anywhere you like now. Just don’t get yourself killed and we’ll be good. _

Tommy knew he was right. If he wanted any real answers, he needed to listen to the voice in his head (no matter how much he wanted to curse him out instead.) Tommy sighed, running a hand through his hair as he went over his options.

There wasn’t a set path for him to choose. All that’s outside of the clearing is just more forest. It seemed to stretch for miles from what Tommy could see, and he doubts he’s near any kind of civilization.

Tommy reaches for the compass around his neck, hoping it’ll give him some sort of insight of what direction to go when--

The compass… it wasn’t there.

Tommy blinked. He never had a compass to begin with, right? So why… 

Why did he think there was one?

Tommy shook his head. No, not now. He’s got all the time in the world to think about the things he can’t remember (which is a fruitless affair in retrospect.) For now, he needs to find a place to stay. A home of his own if only temporary.

Tommy turned around, looking away from the tombstone. If there’s someone buried out here, then at least  _ someone  _ must be close by, most likely opposite of the tomb. Not to mention he feels a type of… pull in his gut in that direction. Like a whisper telling him that’s the right way to go. Call him a fucking idiot or whatever, he doesn’t care. It feels like… an invitation. An easy way out of this rabbit hole he’s stumbled into. It’s like… 

It was meant to be.

Tommy scoffed, turning away and walking past the resting place of a man he didn’t know. Nothing’s meant to be, not to Tommy anyway. Fate is a fickle thing, one he knows he doesn’t like. Tommy likes doing things his own way according to his own rules. If there’s some omniscient force out there that’s telling him to act one way, well, then he’ll act the exact opposite.

Because under  _ no  _ circumstances (even ones that insinuate he’s a  _ God _ ) will Tommy Innit  _ ever  _ listen to someone other than himself.

Even if it gets him killed.

_ It did get you killed _ , the voice reminded.

“Shut up.”

_ Each step forward means another step away from your old life _ , the voice explained, making Tommy hesitate for a few moments.  _ Are you sure this is where you want to go? _

Tommy rolled his eyes. “You said it yourself. This is a new beginning, whether I like it or not.”

_ That’s the Tommy I know _ .

Tommy took a step forward, gritting his teeth. “How can you know me when I don’t even know myself?”

The voice doesn’t respond, and Tommy continues on in silence.

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: bagelpennies
> 
> sorry for the undertale references i am distraught
> 
> posting schedule will be irregular with school and my general lack of motivation, but I'm excited to get back into the groove of writing. if you have any questions, you can comment or dm me on twitter idc lol


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